the next season

the season is long.
the summer
warm
and sticky beyond belief.
there is
little to do but
sit and swing on the porch
sipping tea
and talking about
how the stars
appear and go away,
as does this harvest moon.
we speak of
yesterdays, of loved ones
gone.
we remember when the kids
were young and would
sit with us,
sing songs. the stories
we would tell on
each other.
the summer is long and sweet,
but as the light
lessens, we're ready
for fall.